"There's a global outage," I replied, immediately sorry that I was the one to tell him he wouldn't be posting a well-lit selfie and checking if an ex-boyfriend had watched his story overnight.

“Oh, thank god," he exhaled. "I'd started sweating.”

The social-pocalypse had hit civilisation.

A mum somewhere in Sydney's eastern suburbs couldn’t log on to Facebook to tell the Kmart Hacks group that she thought Carol's use of a hat rack as a toilet roll holder was a f**king travesty.

The world was not the same as yesterday.

On Instagram, semi-naked fitness models were wiped from my consciousness. Ads for skinny teas that make you shit yourself vanished from existence. Praise the Lord! Maybe I’d feel okay about my body today.

I trudged into the bathroom.

Dear god, would I have to read the back of a toothpaste tube?

I started thinking of what my last MySpace password was. I considered resurrecting my Bebo account. Maybe I'd need MSN Messenger back with a classic username like •?((¯°·._.• ąℓ€ж ąɲą$ţą$$ɨ๏µ •._.·°¯))؟•